Clasped Hands
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: August and Georgia's conversation on the way to the palace to talk with Maxon and America. Set in the middle of The One.


_**Soli Deo gloria**_

 **DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Selection series.**

 **August and Georgia don't get enough love. :D.**

The darkness of December hung over the vast palace. August admired it without jealousy. He might have some distant relations living in there, but he didn't envy them their palace—or the rank and death threats that came with it.

It was past midnight; the faintness of the moon hung to one side, as if peeking behind a corner at what he and Georgia were doing. Its slight illumination highlighted their clasped hands; his calloused one clung to Georgia's small, strong one as a lifeline.

Georgia's head went back and forth, her quick eyes assessing as much as she could. "This 'walk' to the palace feels longer than usual," she said quietly. She looked up at August. "It must be the darkness."

August squeezed her hands back. "No. We've invaded in the darkness before. I think it's because we're coming here unarmed, just the two of us. Usually we've got reinforcements."

Georgia agreed, bobbing her head. "True. It's weird, just the two of us."

They walked on the crispy autumn leaves scattered over the forest floor until they reached the edge of the woods. Beyond the safe space of trees made for hiding places was the small piece of pasture that let into the palace gardens. They hesitated for a moment, on the edge between their turf and their sovereigns'. Then they stepped over the edge, together.

"I feel more vulnerable now. More naked," August admitted.

Georgia nodded. "We're coming in peace, though. If they fire on us, they fire on unarmed peacemakers."

"You know the media wouldn't record that. They'd just record us as being rebels. That's all." August sighed. Normally he wasn't such a pessimist. But the burden of this mission, its importance, was not lost on him. When he and Georgia had been assigned it by their leader, he wasn't worried for his own safety. He was worried for Georgia. The palace guards wouldn't care about this bright young woman coming in peace to talk negotiations with the prince and his favorite Selected. They just might fire at her anyway.

Georgia knew he was thinking soberly in this silence, so she squeezed his hand back as a comfort. "We can do this, August. It's not like we're going to talk to the king, anyway. It's just Maxon. And, hopefully, America." Georgia's bright white smile shone in the darkness. "If she can be at this meeting, Maxon will be much more willing to help us."

"Do you think she knows Shalom Singer is one of us?" August wondered. Shalom had tipped them off about the diaries, which had produced progress for their cause. If he was such a fervent believer in the rebels, would his daughter be? America wanted Illéa to fight, to protect themselves against the Southerns. She had fight, she had gumption, much like her father. Would her father have trusted her with his secret, though? Negotiations would be much easier if she knew. Everyone in Illéa already knew of America's sympathies to the citizens, especially to those who didn't want to just go along with the king's laws, which were quickly becoming more restrictive and ridiculous. Was America like that because of her genetics, or because she shared her father's love for freedom? Was America a rebel like them?

The only one advantage August and Georgia could count on was Maxon's love for America. If they had America, they would have Maxon, and if they had them both, who knew how much Illéa could be transformed over their lifetimes?

"I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if she did, but let's not give away his position in front of Maxon. We'll pretend we don't know her father at all," Georgia suggested.

August nodded; she joined him, but got caught halfway with a yawn; "Oh, what I wouldn't do for a cup of coffee right now," she mumbled.

August kissed the top of her head and said, "You'll get sleep in just a little bit, love." Whether that sleep was the sound sleep that good negotiations would bring them, or the forever-sleep a guard could give them, neither of them knew.

Silence reigned as they quietly walked over the short-cut grass; they made their way through the labyrinth of hedges and flowerbeds; their legs carried them to the back porch of the Schreaves.

"Kriss told us where the guard's entrance is. Should we sneak in, or walk in in broad daylight?" August asked Georgia. He was too burdened with worry for her that he couldn't think too clearly about the mission, not until he was reassured of her safety. He let her take the reins right now.

Georgia looked them both over. "We don't have weapons. Let's walk straight in, to show them that we are unafraid and unarmed." She tilted her head and looked all around them. "Besides, there's a distinct lack of daylight."

August sighed, squeezed her hand, and kissed her lips. They met eyes as he stepped back. The they looked at the doors ahead of them; they would either walk out of them triumphant, or they would never walk again.

They squeezed their hands together, and boldly walked into the royal palace.

 **Thanks for reading! Review?**


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